


I Am You

by TheObsessedAuthor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gadreel's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsessedAuthor/pseuds/TheObsessedAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gadreel isn't that different from Sam and Dean.</p><p>Why can't they see that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am You

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed to write this after the last episode. I already adopted Gadreel as my baby, and I can't just give him back to Kripke, so I had to justify his actions somehow. Don't judge me.
> 
> ((Also I don't think ANYTHING can kill a Winchester. Sam is still fighting in there. And Kevin's totally coming back... unless this is how they bring Chuck back?))

They didn't understand.

 

He _was_ them. Couldn't they see that? 

 

Sam, who would do anything for pride. Dean, who only ever wanted his father to be proud of him.

 

Of course, in Gadreel's case, it was his Father.

 

He'd never wanted any of this. He would've gone on healing Sam, fixing him from the inside- as well as he could, given the circumstances. Sam Winchester was broken in many more ways than Dean had warned him- but Gadreel suspected Dean himself didn't know, so he had let it pass. Sam's mind was shredded, ripped and torn with hatred and fear and a guilt so all-encompassing it almost drowned out all the doubt and disgust and death that surrounded him daily. Sure, Sam's internal organs were beaten and bruised and barely functioning, but his _mind_ \- his _mind_ was the thing that made Gadreel wince and shudder whenever he attempted to fix it.

 

It was awful, when he'd first entered Sam. The destruction was far worse than he had imagined; even while unconscious and dying, Sam Winchester had hidden the worst of it (as Gadreel soon found, he did that quite often). He'd picked through Sam's bloodstained memories for days, but never for more than an hour at a time- it was despicable, the things this mortal had been through. The people he had lost, many by his own hand; the ideals that had been cut away from him, leaving gaping, gushing holes in his already-ragged soul; the promises made that were never kept, no matter how many good intentions were wrapped around them.

 

And Gadreel had to fix him.

 

Gadreel, who was just as lost and confused as any other angel- perhaps even more so; he had, after all, been in solitary confinement since the Eden incident. He was weak already from his containment, weaker still from the fiery fall; now he was expected to rebuild a human- one that had been slashed into scraps of flesh that were barely recognizable. How could he fix him, when he was armed with the equivalent of a box of paper clips and half a roll of electrical tape?

 

How do you mend someone's _being_?

 

But he tried. He had to.

 

A paper clip here, a dozen strips of tape there- slowly but surely, Sam was being reborn.

 

Then Dean summoned him.

 

He had barely been able to hold together all the pieces of Sam's psyche while he answered his call. He had to heal someone- some human who had gotten himself stabbed by a Reaper. Not very bright of him, really, and not Gadreel's problem, so-

 

  
_Castiel_.

 

Gadreel's essence faltered. Castiel was everyone's little brother, the kicked puppy- and yet, last Gadreel had heard, he was the captain of his garrison and a brilliant strategist. What had happened? What had he missed? He felt a flash of sympathy for Sam, who complained of "memory lapses." _If only he knew..._  


 

Yes, he'd healed him. How could he not? Even in this battered vessel, even though he was human, Gadreel could see the angel in him- and his basic instinct said to help his brother.

 

But when it happened again, with the red-haired girl, he couldn't stand it. He explained- _very_ patiently- that healing other humans only made his mending of Sam that much slower. Every time he was reawoken, another carefully placed paper clip slipped out of place- another piece of tape detached and floated to the ground- another staple fell out to rest ineffectually on the floor. And still Dean insisted.

 

Gadreel could sense Sam's consciousness- what was left of it- sleeping fitfully, shivering and shuddering when Gadreel touched his forehead. He was only a child, a tormented child driving this mortal suit of skin and bone. And as he listened to Sam's fevered murmurings, he realized that Sam really didn't want to steer anymore.

 

So he took over, cautiously, pulling Sam's weak hands away from the controls and taking his place. He'd been around Sam long enough now that he knew exactly how Sam spoke, what he ate, what he wore, how he walked and smiled and frowned and laughed and read and entered rooms and held himself. It was surprisingly easy to slip into the part. And Dean was much more open with him, this way. Everything was easier. Sam slid into a deep sleep, in the back corner of his mind, curled in on himself quietly but for the occasional mumbled speech.

 

Metatron wasn't as easily fooled as Dean Winchester.

 

Of course he recognized him. That was to be expected. What _wasn't_ expected was that he didn't smite him immediately. Instead, he talked.

 

And Gadreel- against his better judgement- listened. It made sense, in a twisted way- a new Heaven was an appealing thought, especially since Gadreel had been trapped in the old one for so long. It was a chance to redeem himself- to aid the rebirth of their home, to be once again known as an angel who could be loved and trusted and revered.

 

All he had to do was get rid of one human.

 

It wasn't easy. Even after he'd gotten Dean out of his way, he felt- guilt.

 

Why guilt? He was an angel, above these human emotions. He stopped for a second, cast his glance around the battered vessel. What had changed?

 

_Sam._

 

Sam's consciousness was no longer curled in the corner. It still slept, but it stood, accusing Gadreel without seeing him. And there was the source of the guilt- the broken man who he'd set aside. It flooded his senses, ensnaring him, shrouding him in a fog of determination- all emanating from the human so strong that he could stop angels in their tracks, even while being too weak to fully awaken.

 

He fought it off, shook away the crushing sadness that threatened to envelope him, and lashed out at the sleeping Sam. He collapsed, the emotions still swirling frighteningly around his slightly ethereal form. Gadreel shuddered- the cold fingers of shame still ghosted over his heart. It was... unreal. New. And completely and utterly terrifying.

 

He touched his hand to the boy's forehead. Kevin Tran, the Prophet. The first victim.

 

_Target. Target, not victim. Why did I say victim?_

 

Sam's broken consciousness shifted on the floor, still not entirely crushed. Gadreel flinched, then shook himself. _Focus_. He threw his brother aside as he came to block him- _Sam's brother, not mine, I am_ not _Sam_ \- and strode out of the bunker.

 

The look of absolute horror on Dean's face remained frozen in his mind, however. The pain in his head made him want to shriek, but doing so would most likely kill all mortals within a twenty-mile radius- and then the others would know where he was. 

 

_Why do I care what he thought? Why do I care what one mortal feels?_

 

_Why does he not see?_

 

  
_I_ am _you._  


 


End file.
